


Damaged But Not Broken

by Emospritelet



Series: Drinking To Forget [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, F/M, Fingerfucking, In Which I Say Fuck Canon, Much To Their Surprise, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-06 21:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12826338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: A new partner and a stressful day for Detective Weaver lead to another meeting in Roni's bar, and another night of Lacey French's company.  He enjoys the time he spends with her, but that doesn't mean anything.  Or so he tells himself.





	Damaged But Not Broken

**Author's Note:**

> I love writing these two, but I foolishly allowed some plot to creep in amongst the smut. The good news is, this one-shot isn't angsty. The bad news is, there will be an angsty turn in the future :(
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy :)

When she woke, Lacey could tell that it was late by the strength of the light shining against her closed eyelids.  She was warm and comfortable, albeit naked and a little sticky, with a firm, hot body pressed up against her back and the feel of cool breath against her shoulder.  She shifted, disturbing Weaver, who let out a rumbling sigh and ran his palm up her thigh.  The hand slid over her hip and into the curve of her waist before cupping a breast, and he kissed the back of her neck, sending shivers through her.  It would have been nice to turn around and kiss him properly, but she had a feeling she was going to be late for work if she didn’t get up right away.

She pulled away, glancing at the clock on the nightstand, and swore under her breath.  It was almost ten o’clock.

“Shit, I have to go.”

She threw back the covers and bounced out of bed, grabbing Weaver’s shirt from off the floor and pulling it on.  The cotton was deliciously cool against her hot skin, and it smelt of him, musky and spicy and somehow warm.  Added bonus.

“Mind if I borrow this?” she asked.  “I can’t exactly walk the streets in a sexy police outfit.”

“Why not?  I do.”

Lacey huffed in amusement.

“You wear jeans and a shirt!”

“Yes, and it’s sexy.  Wouldn’t you agree?”

She chortled, turning to grin at him.  He was sitting up in bed with his arms folded behind his head, looking incredibly smug.  She supposed he had the right to considering how many times he had made her scream the previous night.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said.  “I’d be interested to see how you filled out a suit.”

“Not my thing.”

“Pity.”

She pulled on her shorts and ankle boots, stuffing her discarded underwear into her purse, and crawled onto the bed to kiss him.  Weaver let out a murmur of contentment, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth as their lips parted.

“I’m not gonna bump into Alice out there, am I?” she asked, and he pulled a face.

“A little late for her.  I suspect she’s been, eaten, left a bunch of crumbs on the table, and gone.”

“She said she lives in a warehouse down on the docks.”

“Yes.”  He stroked a hand through her hair, long fingers cradling her head.  “She and a bunch of other kids.  Like something out of bloody Oliver Twist.  They’re useful, though.  Good eyes and ears.  Alice tries to look out for the rest of them.”

“I like her,” said Lacey.

“She’s only mildly annoying, I suppose.”

She shot him a look, suspecting that he cared for Alice very much, despite his protestations to the contrary.

“Will I see you again?” she asked, and his grin widened.

“At least give me a day or two to recover.”

“Deal,” she said airily.  “I have shit to do anyway.”

“In that case maybe I’ll see you in Roni’s.”

“Fine.”  She slid off the bed.  “Drinks are on you.”

Weaver watched her go, hips swinging invitingly, and stretched his arms above his head with a yawn.  The night had been long and exciting, and although they had slept late, he still felt exhausted.  Trying to keep up with her had been an interesting test of his stamina, but he was pleased to say that he had managed it.  He threw back the covers, padding to the bathroom and turning on the shower.  Half an hour later he was shaved and dressed and sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of toast, pouring coffee as he listened to the local radio.  A tap at the window made him look around.

“Let me in, it’s bloody freezing!” called Alice, and he sighed and got up to open the window.

“You know, you could just use the front door like everyone else.”

“No fun,” she said, scrambling through and grasping his arm to steady herself.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.  “I noticed a lack of mess in the kitchen this morning, so I gathered you didn’t come over.”

“I ate earlier,” she said.  “A man bought me breakfast.  Proper breakfast, eggs and sausage and stuff.”

“What man?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“Dunno, maybe your age, maybe a little younger?” she said.  “Brown hair and beard.  Full of himself.  Asked questions about Belfrey.  Can I have some of that coffee?”

He pushed the pot towards her, and she bounced out of the chair to get herself a mug.

“What more can you tell me about this man?” he asked, and she turned with a smirk.

“No need to be jealous, Detective,” she said.  “I can act as informant to more than one person, you know.”

“Not if I’m continuing to pay you, you can’t,” he said coldly.  “Who was he?”

“Dunno,” she said with a shrug, sitting back down.  “Never saw him before.  I reckon he’s a two-bit scumbag who’s new to town.  Seemed to want to know who the main players were, so I thought it best to keep him talking, until I could find out who he’s working for.  Or who he _wants_ to work for.”

Weaver grunted, picking up a piece of toast and taking a bite.

“Keep an eye on him, then.”

“Already on it,” she said.  “Got some of the kids tailing him.  I’ll let you know what they find.”

“Good.”

There was silence for a moment, and he poured more coffee.  Alice watched him, legs swinging as she leaned back in her chair.

“So,” she said.  “You’re up late and you look as though you were awake half the night.  Lacey was here, I take it?”

“I don’t see what it has to do with you, but yes.”

He took a drink of coffee, and she sniffed.

“Well, excuse me for showing an interest,” she said.  “Being observant is what you pay me for.”

“Being observant on the streets is what I pay you for.”

“I’m just saying she was here again.  Getting to be a habit.”

“Two nights is hardly a habit.”

“Three, including the night you spent at hers, but who’s counting?”

Weaver ignored her, taking a bite out of his toast.

“She’s very pretty,” said Alice.  “Beautiful eyes.   _Great_ legs.   _Way_ too good for you.”

“Well, that has to be number four thousand five hundred and ten on the list of your opinions I didn’t fucking ask for,” he remarked.

“Don’t be such a miserable bastard, you know I’m right,” she said.  “You should propose before she comes to her senses.”

She was grinning at him, and he sighed.

“If I give you an assignment, will you piss off and leave me alone?”

“Depends what it is.”  Her grin widened.  “Want me to take some flowers to your girlfriend?  Pick up some lube?”

“For fuck’s sake…”

He pushed back from the table, and she reached out to grab his arm.

“Come on, I’m only teasing.  This is hilarious, you have to admit that.”

“I fail to see why.”

“Because you were quite content rolling through life and being a grumpy git, when bam!”  She clapped her hands together.  “There she is, like - like the universe decided you needed a soulmate!”

Weaver ran a hand over his face, wanting to sigh.

“We’ve spent three nights together,” he said.  “Three fantastic nights, don’t get me wrong, but it hardly makes us true love.”

“I’m telling you, I can _feel_ it,” she insisted.  “You’re meant to be together, and the stars aligned to make sure you were both in that bar on that night.”

“Have you been reading bad romance novels again?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“That no matter how much you try to deny it,” she said patiently.  “You _like_ her.  More than like her, am I right?”

“You always did have an excellent imagination, Alice.”

“I’m still right, though.”

“You know, if you spent as much time working as you do prying into my love life, you’d want for nothing.”

“Ah-hah!” she said triumphantly, pointing at him.  “Love life!  I knew it!”

“It’s a figure of speech,” he sighed.

“It’s a Freudian slip, is what it is.  You _love_ her!”

She clasped her hands to her chest, batting her eyelashes, and Weaver fixed her with a firm stare, gesturing with his piece of toast.

“We are not talking about this.”

“You’re just pissed off that I caught you having actual feelings about another human being.  Never thought I’d see the day.”

“It’s entirely possible to sleep with someone and not feel anything for them,” he said.  “People do it all the time.”

“Yeah, but not you.”  She took a sip of her coffee.  “You can scowl all you like, I know you.  This is the first time I’ve ever seen you with a woman.  It means something, and you can stop pretending it doesn’t.”

He dropped the remains of his toast and pushed back from the table.

“I have work to do,” he said.  “Let yourself out when you’re done.”

“You could be happy if you let yourself, you know,” she called after him, and he ignored her, striding to the hall to tuck his gun holster onto his belt and pull on his coat.

* * *

He left without another word, locking the door after him and figuring Alice would just climb back out of the window when she was ready.  His mouth was set in a flat line, annoyed by her interference.  If he was completely honest, he did feel something for Lacey, but he wasn’t sure what that was yet.  Quite why Alice had appointed herself matchmaker was a mystery, but she did have a tendency to get obsessive about things.  Perhaps this was just the latest, and it would all be over in a few weeks when she moved on to her next interest.  Assuming he and Lacey were still doing - well, whatever it was they were doing.  He wasn’t sure about that either.

His was the late shift that day, which meant a night of cleaning up other people’s messes and dealing with the low-lifes that crawled out onto the streets when the sun went down.  He had promised himself that he would spend the afternoon catching up on paperwork, a task that he hated but which needed to be done.  His lip curled as he gathered the files into a pile on his desk and started to work through them: all the cases he had dealt with in the past week.  Most of them had been solved, a few were ongoing, and there was the ever-present investigation going on into Belfrey Industries which he was sure he was close to cracking if he could just persuade some of his potential witnesses to open their bloody mouths.

“Detective Weaver?”

“Fuck off, I’m busy!” he snapped, not looking around.

“Oh, it was just - Lieutenant Griffin sent me around here.  I’m your new partner.”

Weaver straightened up, turning towards the voice.  A young man stood there, mid to late twenties, with short brown hair and high cheekbones and wearing a dark shirt and pants with very shiny black shoes.  He had calm brown eyes, and a tiny smile twisting his mouth.  There was something oddly familiar about him, but Weaver couldn’t place it.

“Partner, is it?” said Weaver.  “I tend to work alone.”

“Yes, the Lieutenant said you’d say that,” said the man.  “She also said that you don’t have any choice in the matter.”

Weaver frowned, tapping his pen against the pile of files.

“Anything else?” he asked, his voice deceptively mild.

“Um…”  The man raised his eyes to the ceiling, as though he was trying to recall something.  “She said that if you try to give me the slip or fob me off with paperwork, you’ll be stuck here logging evidence for the next two months.”

Weaver scowled.

“Everyone seems to want to piss me off today,” he growled.  “Alright, Detective, what’s your bloody name?”

“French,” said the man, and Weaver frowned.

 _That’s who he reminds me of.  He reminds me of Lacey, a little.  Oh God, please don’t be her brother, I do_ not _want to have that conversation._

“You don’t know a Lacey French, by any chance?” he asked.

“No.  Should I?”

“Fucking hope not, but the way my day’s going it wouldn’t surprise me.”

Weaver pushed back from the desk, swinging back in his chair a little.

“Alright, Detective,” he said.  “You seem considerably younger than me, which I have no doubt makes you ridiculously fucking eager to jump in at the deep end and probably get us both killed, so how about you tell me about your experience to date?”

“I studied criminology and criminal justice,” said French, with an air of barely-repressed excitement that made Weaver want to groan.  “The police department accepted me into the rank of detective straight out of college, and - and this is my first proper assignment, so I’m looking forward to getting out there.”

“So you weren’t an officer, then?”  Weaver pursed his lips.  “A college education can only take you so far, you know.  Experience is what counts in this game.”

“Then it’s just as well I’ve been partnered with you, isn’t it?”

His mouth pulled up slightly at one corner, as though he was amused by something, and Weaver felt a tickle at the back of his mind, as though there was something he should be remembering.  It was gone as soon as he tried to grasp it.

“Okay,” he said, and gestured to the desk across from him.  “Take a seat, and log yourself into the system.  You can help me process these files, and then we’ll see what the city has for us to look into this evening.”

“Right.”  French immediately dropped into a chair and began fiddling with the computer.

“And you’ll need to change into something more suitable,” added Weaver.  “Those pants’ll rip the first time you fall on your arse, and believe me, that’ll happen.  Get some jeans on, or something.  Shoes you can run in.  A shirt that doesn’t look as though you’re going on a bloody date.”

“I - I thought it was best to smarten up.”

“Well, now you’re here, it’s time to be practical,” he said dismissively.  “I don’t have time to babysit you, got it?”

* * *

Lacey handed over a Double Cluck Combo meal with a smile that felt as though it was frozen in place.  The customer took it without even acknowledging her, slouching as he walked out, and she scowled at his back.

“Okay, let’s clean this place up,” said Louie, pulling her attention back around.  “Lacey, how about you do in here while I cash up?”

She sighed, nodding, and went to start wiping down the tables.  It had been a long day, and her back was aching a little from being on her feet for hours.  She watched Louie out of the corner of her eye while he counted out quarters and dimes, and while he was distracted she emptied the counter of the remaining pieces of fried chicken, stowing them in two cardboard buckets and hiding them outside behind the dumpster.  Louie glanced up when she went back through, and she busied herself cleaning the countertops.

“Was there any chicken left?” he asked.

“Couple of pieces,” she lied.  “I threw ‘em in the trash.”

He nodded in satisfaction.

“Okay.  Did you make a note on the stock sheet?”

“Um - sure.”

She racked her brains to try to think of how many chicken pieces there actually were, and when he would next do a stocktake.  Not until next week, she thought.

“When you’re done you can get out of here,” he said.  “I’ll see you on Saturday.  Don’t be late.”

She peeled off her apron with a sigh of satisfaction, and went to grab her coat, wrinkling her nose at the scent of the fryers that had seeped into every stitch of clothing she wore.  It would be nice to leave her place of work not stinking of cooking oil, for once, but she supposed that would never happen as long as she worked at Mr Cluck’s.  She ducked out into the cold air, keeping an eye out for Louie before reaching behind the dumpster and picking up the buckets of chicken, tucking them into the crooks of her arms.  Glancing around again, she trotted off in the direction of the docks.

It was dark and fairly deserted down by the old warehouses, and she felt a momentary anxiety as a shadow moved in a doorway.  Perhaps coming down here late at night hadn’t been the best idea.  She wasn’t even sure which warehouse she needed, and she was beginning to regret her impulsive nature.  A scrape and tap above her made her pause, and then there was the sound of feet landing hard on the cold ground.

“Hey.”

Alice’s voice made her look around, and she sagged with relief.

“Hey,” she said, and held up the cardboard buckets.  “I fried too much chicken.  You want some?”

Alice’s face brightened.

“Thanks,” she said, taking one of the buckets.  “Come on in.”

She pushed open the nearest warehouse door with a squeak of old hinges, and Lacey followed her into a dimly-lit area that was made up of stacked pallets and storage crates.  Alice led her up a flight of wooden steps to what looked like a makeshift room, its walls made of old shelving units, with a pallet bed covered in sleeping bags and battered cushions.  A crate served as a table, and Alice curled up next to it and opened up the bucket of fried chicken, taking out a piece and biting into it.  Lacey looked around herself, running her eyes over the contents of the shelving units.  There were books, and board games, and a myriad of trinkets.

“So many things,” she said, and Alice shrugged.

“I like to collect stuff,” she said.  “Never know when you have something another person will need, right?”

“So you trade them?”

“Sometimes.”  Alice gave her a shrewd look.  “Sometimes I just give ‘em away.”

Lacey bent her head to look at a teacup, white with a stylised blue flower on it.  It had a chip in the rim, but she felt a strange urge to touch it.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, and Alice shrugged, chewing her chicken.

“Found it with a bunch of other stuff, rotting in a box on the harbour,” she said.  “Do you like it?”

“It’s pretty,” said Lacey, reaching out with a hand almost instinctively.  “I know it’s chipped, but it’s still a lovely thing.”

“Things can be lovely and damaged at the same time,” said Alice.  “Why don’t you take it?”

Lacey turned quickly.

“I can’t, it’s yours.”

“Not really,” said Alice, unconcerned.  “It belonged to someone, once, and it’s been sitting here waiting to be claimed.  Some lost objects do that, you know.  I think you should have it.”

“Um - okay, thanks.”

Lacey reached out to touch the cup, sliding a finger through the delicate handle.  She felt an odd sensation as she did so, as though something momentous had just happened.  It gave her a heavy, swooping feeling in her belly which she didn’t much like, and she looked the cup over for a moment before tucking it into her bag.

“You want some of this chicken?” asked Alice, and Lacey shook her head.

“God, if I ever see another piece of chicken again it’ll be too soon,” she sighed.  “I thought you could use it.  Weaver said you had a bunch of kids to look out for.”

“Ah, Detective Weaver...”  Alice broke into a wide grin.  “A man who pretends he doesn’t care about anyone.  You should tell him, you know.”

“Tell him what?” asked Lacey, puzzled.

“That you’re in love with him, of course.”

“I - I am _not_!” Lacey spluttered.

“Oh, of course you are,” said Alice dismissively.  “He loves you too, but the bloody idiot won’t admit it either.  The universe has got its work cut out with you two, apparently.”

“We’ve only had like three dates!” protested Lacey, blushing.  “And - and they’ve pretty much been spent completely naked!”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“Not exactly the stuff dreams are made of.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”  Alice grinned widely.  “Depends how dirty your dreams are.”

Lacey chuckled at that.

“Okay, we’re not going down _that_ road,” she said.  “Anyway, I guess I wouldn’t mind hanging out with him again, but that’s as far as it goes.”

“You’ll see I’m right, in the end,” said Alice.  “You two are meant to be.  I’ve seen it.”  She splayed two fingers, pointing at her eyes, and raised her chin as she pressed a fist to her heart.  “I can _feel_ it.”

“All I can feel is backache,” said Lacey flatly, and sighed.  “Look, I should get going.  It’s been - well, it’s been weird, to be honest, but thanks for the cup.”

“Thanks for the chicken, Lacey French.  Give Weaver my love.”

Alice grinned at her, and Lacey opened her mouth before closing it again and climbing back down the wooden stairs to let herself out of the warehouse.

* * *

Weaver had worked late, taking French to some of his usual haunts to give him a feel for the city and its less pleasant inhabitants.  The man was just what he thought he’d be: all the eagerness of a rookie with a penchant for parroting procedure whenever Weaver wanted to do something that wasn’t strictly by the book.  He was still wet behind the ears, though, which was apparent once they got into the back alleys.  French hadn’t taken his advice and changed his outfit, and so Weaver took him on an impromptu run through the dirtiest streets that he could find, which resulted in French slipping and falling, tearing a hole in the knee of his pants and grazing the heels of his hands.  Just as he had warned.

“I did try to tell you,” he said, looking down at the man and trying to keep the grin off his face.  “Guess experience really does count for something.”

French glared at him, but straightened up and dusted himself off.

“Who the hell were we chasing, anyway?” he asked.  “I didn’t see a thing.”

“Oh, it was one of our regulars,” said Weaver carelessly.  “He’s gone now.  Forget about it, it wouldn’t have been anything to lose sleep over.  Speaking of which, you should go home and get some.  We have the early slot tomorrow.”

French pushed to his feet and dusted himself off.

“We should head back to the station,” he said.  “I need to write up my report for the evening.”

“Go home,” said Weaver.  “You can do that tomorrow.”

“Protocol states—”

“Go the fuck home, Detective,” said Weaver sternly.  “Get some rest.  Lots to do tomorrow.  And wear some bloody jeans, like I told you.”

He sauntered off, leaving French standing there.   _Bloody idiot probably will go back to the bloody station.  More fool him._

* * *

The next day was hardly any better.  It was an early start, and French turned up looking better prepared than the previous day, with jeans above thick-soled boots.  At least he had proved he could listen, Weaver supposed.  The day was mostly taken up with a stakeout of one of George King’s properties: a restaurant that the police suspected was a front for nefarious dealings, and about which one of the other detectives had received information concerning a possible payoff of a city official.  Stakeouts were dull, but required one’s full attention, and French wanted to talk to Weaver about the job, and procedure, and whether it was true that he had once killed someone with nothing but a pair of takeout chopsticks.  Weaver had to constantly tell him to shut the fuck up and concentrate.  By the time eight o’clock came around and they were relieved by two other detectives, he was in a foul mood, and headed off to Roni’s without a backwards glance.

The sight of Lacey was a welcome one, and he felt his heart lighten a little as he looked at her.  She was leaning on the bar in a tiny skirt and tight black top, pale legs above high black shoes, gesturing as she chatted to Roni.  He felt himself smile, but then remembered Alice’s words from the previous day, and rearranged his expression into something more neutral.  Roni caught his eye, nodding cautiously, and Lacey turned to face him.  A grin curved those perfect lips, her eyes sparkling, and he felt himself wanting to smile again.   _Bloody idiot._

“Well, hey there!” she drawled, letting one hip jut out and giving him an excellent view of the curves that he remembered so well.  “How are you, Detective?”

“Shit,” he said, with feeling.  “Give me a whisky, please, Roni.”

Lacey pushed off the bar and twined her arms around his neck, kissing him hungrily, and for a moment he let himself melt into her, an odd sense of calm washing over him, as though with her touch she could ground him.  His tongue stroked against hers, and he could feel himself start to harden as she pushed against him, so he drew back, their lips parting.  He was a little breathless, and Lacey’s cheeks were flushed, making her even more beautiful.

“Well,” she said softly.  “Seems like you missed me.”

She wasn’t wrong.  He certainly had missed her, but the words seemed stuck in his throat, and so he put his hands on her waist and moved her gently aside so that he could reach for his drink.

“Shall we get a table?” he asked, ignoring Roni’s suspicious look.

“I don’t want to have to come over and hose you two down,” she warned, lifting a finger.  “Any funny business, take it outside.”

“Hey, we’ll be good as gold, I promise,” said Lacey.

She grasped his hand, picking up her drink and tugging him with her to a table in one of the darkened corners.  Weaver set down his drink and put an arm around her, tugging her close and breathing in the scent of her perfume.

“Well, you can be good if you want to,” he said softly, running a hand up her thigh.  “Personally I don’t see the appeal.”

The tips of his fingers brushed underneath the hem of the skirt, and Lacey sucked in a breath.

“I think - I think you should at least ask me about my day.”

He sat up, one hand tucked in her waist and the other reaching for his drink.

“How was your day, Lacey?”

“It was - well, I guess it sucked only about ninety per cent as much as usual,” she said.  “But only because I have the day off tomorrow.  You?”

Weaver took a drink, releasing her before setting down his glass and sitting back.

“I have a new partner,” he growled, and she pursed her lips.

“Okay,” she said.  “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”  Weaver ran his hands over his face with a sigh.  “Buggered off back to Wittenberg or something.  Maybe Rosencrantz and Guildenstern will do me a fucking favour and keep him there.”

“Oh my God.”  Lacey snickered into her drink.  “Was that a _Hamlet_ quip?  Did you just make a _Hamlet_ quip?”

She giggled, and after a moment he gave her a wry grin, taking a slurp of his whisky.

“Thank God you got it.”

“Thank my old English teacher, who was the only one who was actually nice to me,” she said.  “Oh, and that thrift store that had a bunch of old books for ten cents each.  Got me through some dull fucking nights, let me tell you.”

He grinned, taking another drink, and Lacey took a sip of her own

“So, are you going all Shakespearean on me because of anything in particular, or is it just your new partner?” she asked.  “You didn’t fuck his mother, by any chance?  Don’t believe him if he says he’s going mad, it’s a total ruse.  Maybe.”

Weaver barked a laugh.

“He’s not mad, he’s just - ah, he’s just fucking annoying,” he said.  “Everything has to be by the bloody book.  If I hear the phrase ‘protocol states’ one more time I’ll take the bloody Seattle Police Department Manual and shove it up his arse.”

He shook his head, downing the rest of his whisky.

“Another?”

“Wouldn’t say no,” she said.  “But then, do I ever?”

She gave him a mischievous grin, eyebrows wiggling, and he turned to face her.

“I think I’d like to find out,” he said quietly, and her eyes widened a little, her breath catching as his hand slid up her thigh.

“Well, maybe you should offer me something, and we’ll see how it goes,” she said, her voice a little unsteady.

“You want to make a deal with me?”

“Pleasure for pleasure,” she said, her voice growing low and smoky as his head bent to hers, and he trailed his lips along her jaw, feeling a gentle shudder go through her.  His mouth reached her ear, and he let his lips brush against it.

“Alright,” he whispered.  “But let’s have one more drink.”

He stood up, collecting their empty glasses to carry back to the bar, and Lacey watched him go, enjoying the way his butt moved in his jeans.  Light gleamed on his hair as he bent over the bar, white shirt stretching across his shoulders as he leaned forward to attract Roni’s attention.  Lacey remembered how he looked without the jeans, without the shirt, and how it felt to have him inside her.  She licked her lips, squeezing her thighs together as he turned around with the glasses in his hands.   _I could lick that whisky off him.  I could pour it on his chest and just suck it from his skin, and…_

She shook her head, wondering where her sudden rush of libido had come from.  It wasn’t as though she had been short of good sex in the past week or so, far from it.  As he set down the glasses Weaver smiled at her briefly, his eyes crinkling, and she felt her heart lurch a little.   _Get a grip, Lacey, for fuck’s sake!_

“Come here,” she said.

She slipped a finger into the open collar of his shirt, snagging on a button and tugging him towards her until he was sitting pressed up against her.  Weaver slid a hand over her thigh, running up over the curve of her hip and into her waist as he bent to kiss her neck.  She gasped at the sensation, shivering at the touch of his lips and the scrape of his stubble, and he inhaled deeply before running his tongue over her pulse point.  The sensation was incredible, and she moaned, closing her eyes and losing herself in the sensations.  His hand inched higher, fingers stroking the swell of her breast, gently squeezing, and she pushed into his palm, her own fingers sliding in between the buttons of his shirt to touch his hot skin.

“No undershirt today?” she observed.  “Lucky me.”

Weaver kissed up her neck and back along her jaw, and she flicked open two of the buttons on his shirt, pushing the white cotton apart to slide her hand inside.  He let out a low, rumbling growl of pleasure as her fingertips brushed over his nipple, and she felt the heat of his breath on her lips as his mouth sought hers.  She pressed herself against him as they kissed, her fingers sliding over his skin, and his free hand pushed through her hair, his fingers scraping against her scalp and making her shiver.  He tasted of the whisky, fiery and a little sweet, and she could feel her arousal building, the need for him growing.

She stroked over his nipple again, squeezing it between thumb and forefinger, and he groaned into her mouth, his fingers tightening in her hair.  He pulled his mouth from hers, planting messy kisses along her jaw and down her throat before drawing back a little and pressing his brow to hers.  His breathing was hard and unsteady, matching her own, and she slipped her hand out of his shirt, running it up his thigh and brushing against the hard length of his cock.  He gritted his teeth at her touch.

“Feels good to kiss you,” he said.

“Feels good to be kissed,” she countered.  “Kisses aren’t all I’m gonna get tonight, though, right?”  She shifted a little closer, raising her chin.  “Tell me what you want, Detective.”

His hand slipped from her hair to cup her cheek, thumb running over the moist swell of her lower lip.

“I want to get inside you,” he breathed.  “In _every_ way, Lacey.”

She shivered with anticipation, running a finger up the length of his cock through his jeans and making him swear under his breath.

“In that case,” she said.  “You should come back to my place.”

“Mine’s nearer.”

She drew her tongue up his throat, making him hiss, and tugged at his earlobe with her teeth as his hand slid into her hair again.

“I fancy a change of scene,” she said.  “And no early morning visitors.”

“Well, I’ll drink to that,” he murmured, and kissed her again, fingers twisting in her hair as his tongue probed her mouth.

“This is a bar, not your bedroom.”  Roni’s stern voice made them break apart, and Weaver looked around to see her glaring at them, a tray of empty glasses balanced on one arm.

“And here I thought we were being discreet,” he said.

“Well, you don’t have your hand up her skirt, which I suppose is progress,” she said, with a sniff.  “Why don’t you two just finish your drinks and go do whatever it is you do when you’re not offending my customers?”

“Sorry, Roni,” said Lacey, and reached for her drink.  “Good idea, by the way.”

Weaver sat back with a sigh as Roni stalked off to collect more glasses.

“She’s going to bar us eventually, I think,” he remarked.

“Nah.”  Lacey reached for her drink.  “I think we’re okay as long as we don’t actually get to full-on fucking under the table.”

“All the more reason to go back to your place.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Weaver downed his whisky, setting the glass back on the table with a loud clink, and Lacey followed suit.

“After you, then,” he said, and she got up, shrugging on her jacket.

* * *

The night air was cold and crisp, and thankfully dry, but the wind cut through them like knives.  Lacey shivered, nestled by his side, and he put his arm around her and tugged her against him.  It felt nice, having her tucked into his side, the scent of her perfume in his nose and her fingers trailing over his belly through the shirt.  They walked quickly, Lacey pointing out where they needed to turn, although he was pretty sure he could find the way there himself.  She ducked in through the doorway with a hiss of relief to be out of the wind, and led him by the hand up the stairs to her apartment.  It was just as he remembered it, battered couch and bare walls, no photographs of loved ones to show she had family, no posters of bands to hint at her tastes.  Nothing but shelves bare except for a few well-read books.  It was as though she didn’t plan on being there long.  As though she would leave nothing behind to tell of her presence when she left.  He wondered when that would be.

Her bedroom was equally spartan, a plain dresser and chair alongside the bed where she kicked off her shoes, a two-drawer nightstand.  He did a double-take when he noticed something sitting on the dresser.  Something that had not been there previously.  Lacey kissed him before he could mention it, stretching up on her toes in bare feet and grasping the collar of his shirt to pull his mouth down on hers.  He put the trinket from his mind, shrugging off his coat and sliding his hands around her waist and up her back, pulling her close against him.  Lacey let out a contented hum as his tongue parted her lips, sliding inside to taste her, and she pressed her body against his, her hands running up over his chest.  His shirt was still unbuttoned, and she pulled her mouth from his and kissed down his neck, pushing the shirt open and running her tongue over the exposed skin

“You taste good,” she whispered, and her tongue swirled around his hardened nipple, making him groan.  Her mouth was sending jolts of pleasure through him, straight to his groin, and it was difficult to concentrate.

“No bad innuendos today?” he managed, and Lacey looked up with a wry grin.

“Not ruling it out, but I kind of feel like we know each other now,” she said.  “The terrible flirting isn’t necessary, right?  We can just skip to the good stuff.”

She sucked on his nipple again, her fingers tugging at the buttons of his shirt, and he let her undress him, enjoying the feel of her hands on his skin.  He grasped the bottom of her shirt, and she straightened up for a moment, lifting her arms so he could pull it over her head.  She was wearing black lace, her breasts pushed high, the wan glow from the streetlights licking over her curves, and he unzipped her skirt and let it fall, leaving her standing in her underwear.  The bra went next, thrown aside to bare her small, firm breasts, and he put his hands on her waist and turned her, pushing her against the wall.

Lacey gasped as her back was pressed against the cold plaster, his hands a delightfully hot contrast against her skin.  He cupped her breasts, bending to kiss them one by one, sucking a nipple in between his lips and making her moan.  Lacey’s hands tangled in his hair as he moved lower, her breath coming hard in her chest at the feel of new stubble on her belly, his hands sliding down over her hips and tugging her underwear down to her ankles.  She stepped out of the panties, and his hands moved between her thighs, pulling them apart.  The first touch of his tongue pulled a high, plaintive cry from her, and she let her head roll back against the wall with a dull thud as he began to lick her, his tongue moving in slow, rhythmic strokes.  Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she gasped for breath, feeling the sensations build as he worked.

Weaver slipped a hand behind her leg, lifting it up and putting it over his shoulder, giving him more access to her, and she moaned as he pushed a finger inside her, his tongue swirling over her clit.  A second finger entered, thrusting hard, pushing deep, and her breath was coming in pants as felt herself nearing climax.  Her fingers twisted in his hair, holding him against her, and his tongue swept and circled and rubbed as her moans increased in pitch and volume until she came with a loud cry, jerking against his mouth, her pulse throbbing hard and her cheeks burning.  Her leg wobbled, and he let the other drop to help her balance as he drew out his fingers to suck them clean, a low sound of satisfaction coming from him.  He licked her again, catching every drop of her pleasure, the strokes of his tongue a little too much sensation against flesh still tingling from her orgasm, and she sighed contentedly as he pressed kisses to her and began to work his way back up.

Weaver tugged at the soft skin of her belly with his lips, enjoying the way her climax had made her body relaxed and soft and yielding.  Her fingers were stroking through his hair, sending waves of shivering pleasure through him, and he wanted her so much it _burned._  He straightened, scooping her up in his arms and throwing her onto the bed, making her giggle.  She watched him as he undressed, arms folded behind her head and her dark hair spread out on the pillows.  The streetlights were picking out highlights on her body: the curves of her breasts, the tiny sweep of her nose and the lengths of her shins.  Her belly was pulled taut, and he could see the gentle lines of her ribs beneath her pale skin, the cleft beneath her thighs a little darker than the rest of her.  She was utter perfection, and again he felt a strange sensation, almost like a memory.  It was strong enough to still his hands on the fly of his jeans, and Lacey’s brow furrowed.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”  He put the odd déjà vu from his mind.  “Yes, I’m more than okay.”

He tugged off his boots and jeans, followed by his underwear, kicking it all out of the way before climbing onto the bed beside her.  Lacey rolled towards him, sliding a hand over his waist, and he kissed her, pushing her onto her back as his hands explored her curves.  She arched up into his touch, moaning a little, and he slid one hand down between her legs, gently stroking.  Lacey gasped as a finger slid inside her.

“God, you’re so good at that,” she murmured.  “It’s like you know exactly how to get me off.  Every damn time.”

“Practice makes perfect, though,” he said.

He bit down on her neck, pulling another gasp from her as his fingers pushed deep.  Lacey moaned again as he swept his tongue over the bite, his mouth watering at the taste of her salt.  She was writhing in his arms, pushing against his hand as his fingers thrust and slid inside her, and he used the pad of his thumb to roll over her clit, sliding over the hard nub and making her cry out.

 _“Fuck!”_ she breathed, and he smiled against her skin.

“All in good time.”

He moved his mouth to her ear, running his lips over it.

“First I want to feel you come,” he said, his voice a low growl.  “I love feeling you come, Lacey.”

Her response was another moan, her hips rising up to push herself against his hand, and he thrust into her with long, slow strokes, his thumb swiping over her clit.  He could sense that she was close: the subtle changes in her breathing, the rising tension in her muscles and the flush of her cheeks.  He pushed up on an elbow to see more of her, marvelling at her beauty, his cock painfully hard with his need to be inside her.  Her eyes were closed in ecstasy, her lips parted, and she threw her head back with a cry, arching her back as she came, her muscles clenching around his fingers.  Weaver stilled his hand, feeling the hot slickness of her all around him as she twitched and moaned.  He drew out the fingers, licking the taste of her from them, and she let her head roll to the side, her eyes fluttering open and a dreamy smile on her face.

“Wow,” she said, and he grinned.

“Ready for more?”

“My head might explode.”

“Doubt it, but why don’t we try and see?”

She sent him a lazy grin, reaching up to stroke her fingers through his hair.

“You said you wanted to get inside me,” she said.  “In every way.”

“And I do,” he whispered, kissing her jaw.  Lacey met his eyes, the tip of her tongue flicking out to wet her lips.

“Condoms in the nightstand,” she said.  “Should be some lube, too.”

He kissed her, arousal burning through him at the thought of feeling every bit of her, and she melted in his arms, her body pressing against him.  He pulled back, his lips brushing over hers, and got off the bed, scooping up his jacket and rummaging in the inside pocket until he found the latex gloves he carried around in case he came across an unexpected piece of evidence.  Lacey was watching him curiously, and he pulled open the drawer of the nightstand, throwing a couple of condoms onto the bed and picking up a small bottle of lube.  She had rolled onto her left side, one hand resting on her hip, and so he crawled on behind her, taking himself in hand and rolling on the condom.  He pulled on the glove with a snap of latex, listening to Lacey’s breathing quicken as he ran his hand over her hip and up to cup her breast.  She moaned as he squeezed her nipple between thumb and forefinger, and he bent his head to the nape of her neck, biting down and making her shiver.

“Ready, sweetheart?” he whispered, and she nodded vigorously.

He squirted lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together to spread it before adding more.  It was silky and white, reminding him of how it felt to have her cum on his hand.  Lacey squeaked at the cold feel of it as the tip of his finger pressed against her tight rear opening.  He pushed inside slowly, and she moaned, opening her legs a little.  Weaver kissed the back of her neck, his tongue stroking her skin.

“Good girl,” he whispered.  “That’s good, Lacey.”

He began slow, gentle thrusts with the finger, and Lacey let out a tiny cry with each one, almost gasping for breath, one hand reaching back to tug at his hair.  He reached around with his free hand to push in between her legs, stroking against her clit, and she moaned and thrust her hips in time with him.  His tongue trailed up her neck, and he gently pushed a second finger in beside the first, Lacey letting out a loud moaning cry as he did so.

“ _Fuck_ , that’s amazing!” she gasped.

He slid his fingers into her, his other hand teasing her clit, fingers dipping inside her, and she began to pant, her chest heaving as he thrust in and out of her, his movements slow and measured, his desire to get inside her making him grit his teeth.

“Can you take another?” he asked roughly.

“Give it to me!” she breathed.

He added a third finger.  Lacey let out a yowl as it entered, sliding in against the other two.  She was tight around his fingers, gripping him hard, and he moved slowly, careful not to hurt her.  She let out a tiny cry with every thrust, the cry turning into a loud moan as he scissored his fingers, her body jerking with the sensations.

“Holy _crap_!” she gasped, and he grinned wickedly, biting into the back of her neck and around to her ear.

“I think you’re ready,” he whispered.  “Are you ready, sweet?”

She nodded, and he carefully drew out his fingers, shifting a little so that the head of his cock pressed up against her.  Lacey was gasping for breath, and she let out a loud moan as he slowly pushed inside her with a low groan of pleasure.  She was almost painfully tight, and he pushed in up to the hilt before stilling, letting her get used to the feel of him inside her.

Lacey tried to catch her breath, the sensation of having him deep inside her an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain.  She heard the snap of latex again as he peeled off the glove and tossed it aside, and then his hand was sliding beneath her and cupping her breast, thumb and forefinger plucking at her nipple.  His other hand dipped in between her legs, the fingers pushing inside her, the thumb stroking her clit as he began slow, steady thrusts.  The sensations were almost too much, and she could feel sweat bead on her lip as her face flushed, her cries growing in pitch.  He bit down into the nape of her neck, and shivers rippled through her, her body tingling.

“Fuck, you feel amazing!” he rasped.  “So fucking tight, Lacey!”

She moaned, and his tongue swept up her neck, teeth nipping her ear.

“I love fingering you.”  Low, growling words rumbled through her, making her belly clench.  “You feel like fucking velvet, you know that?  I want to spend _every single night_ fucking you.  I want to make you come every way I can.”

He thrust deep, and she cried out, reaching behind her head to feel him, fingers sliding over the roughness of new stubble on his cheeks before tangling in his hair.

“Come for me, sweet,” he whispered.  “Come for me, because my cock’s gonna explode.”

His fingers pushed inside her, his thumb rubbing over her clit, and Lacey screamed as she came hard, jerking forward as stars burst behind her eyes.  He followed her with a shout of pleasure, and she felt him pulse inside her, the sensation adding to her bliss.  He groaned at his release, moving with tiny, shallow thrusts until they both stilled, gasping for breath.

Weaver pushed his face into the soft curls of her hair, breathing her in as he tried to calm himself.  His entire body was tingling, as though electricity was crackling over his skin, and he slowly drew out his fingers, slippery with her cum, and reached around to grasp the base of the condom and gently pull out of her.  Lacey flinched a little, letting out a tiny moan.

“You alright?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Think so.  That was incredible.”

Her words were somewhat slurred, making him smile, and he kissed her bare shoulder and rolled away, heading for the bathroom.  The light above the mirror was harsh as he washed his hands, revealing every line on his face, every silver hair.  It didn’t help that he had been up late the night before and hadn’t slept well.  He would probably have been better off going back to his own bed, but he was reluctant to leave her.

When he went back into the bedroom, Lacey was still curled on her side, her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around her belly.  Bright eyes watched him, sweeping up and down his body, and she licked her lips as he got into bed, tugging the blankets over them and pulling her close.  They lay in comfortable silence for a while, her head nestled against his chest.  He thought that perhaps she was dozing, but the she raised her head.

“You want a drink?”

“Okay.”

She pushed up, slipping from the bed and grabbing his shirt to pull around herself.  He got into bed, sitting up against the pillows with a sigh as he heard the clink of glasses and the dull thud of cupboard doors closing.  Lacey sauntered back in, the shirt buttoned twice, tails of white cotton hanging down her slim thighs.  She had two squat tumblers between finger and thumb, and a half-empty bottle of whisky in the other hand.  He took the glasses from her as she got into bed, and she poured them each a measure before setting the bottle aside.  Weaver took a drink, letting the fire of the whisky fill his mouth and sear his tongue.  It was rough as hell, but it would do.  He took another drink, his eyes flicking over to the dresser, to the item that had caught his attention earlier.  A porcelain teacup, white with a blue flower and a triangular chip in the rim, sitting in the middle of the dresser as though it were a priceless antique.

“What’s that?” he asked, and Lacey raised her head.

“What?  Oh, that.”  She shrugged.  “Pretty, isn’t it?  I found it in Alice’s warehouse.  She said I could take it.”

“It’s chipped,” he said.

“Yeah, I know.”  She wriggled in the bedclothes.  “I just thought it was nice, that’s all.  Besides, we’re all a little damaged, and we still carry on, right?”

“It’ll probably cut your lip if you try to drink out of it.”

Lacey sighed.

“It’s just a pretty thing to put on the dresser and make this place look less like a squat.  Why do you care?”

“Sorry,” he said.  “It just caught my interest.  Where did Alice get it?”

“Said she found it with a bunch of other stuff in a box by the harbour,” said Lacey, nestling against his side.  “She has a ton of trinkets in that little den of hers.”

“Yes, so I’ve seen.”  He took another drink.  “What brought you to that end of town, anyway?”

“Oh, I cooked some extra chicken and took it to her,” said Lacey.  “Figured she needed it more than Mr Cluck’s.”

“That was kind of you,” he said, and she beamed up at him, her eyes sparkling in the low light, making him want to smile back.   _You love her_. Alice’s voice whispered in his ear, and he shifted uneasily.

“Did she say anything else?” he asked, and Lacey seemed to shrink a little, looking uncomfortable.

“Nothing that made any sense,” she said.  “I like her a lot, don’t get me wrong, but she’s - kind of intense.”

Well, now he was curious.  “What did she say?”

Lacey’s mouth twisted.

“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered, and threw back her drink.  “Another?”

“Okay then.”

He held out his glass, and she poured another whisky each.  Her curls had fallen forward a little, hiding her face, and he wanted to brush them back, to see what she was trying to keep inside.  He kept his hand on the bedclothes.  It seemed that they both had their secrets, and it was not for him to try to pry hers from where she kept them locked up tight.  Lacey was chewing her lip, and he wanted to kiss her, to break the sudden awkwardness between them.  He seemed frozen in place, and he took another drink for something to do.  She shook back her hair, meeting his eyes, as though she had just thought of something.

“Tell me more about this partner of yours,” she said, and giggled as he groaned and let his head thump back against the wall.

“Well, his name’s French,” he said.  “No relation, I did ask.”

“Definitely not,” she said, with feeling.  “Me, related to a cop?  That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

Weaver let his mouth draw up in a slanting grin.

“Why, because you’re so bad?”

“Oh, I’m a little bit bad,” she said, batting her eyelashes at him.  His grin widened.

“I think you like to pretend you’re bad,” he said.  “When actually you’re as sweet as apple pie.”

“Apple pie’s bad for you if you have too much of it,” she countered.

He set down his glass, turning on his side to face her and sliding a hand up her thigh beneath the shirt.

“Well, I could definitely stand to have a little more,” he growled, and her eyes widened, her tongue darting across her lips.

“I - still have my drink,” she whispered, and he took the glass from her hand, throwing it back.

“God, that’s rough as fuck!”

Lacey giggled as he tossed the glass aside, letting it bounce on the blankets.  He pushed her onto her back, plucking at the buttons of the shirt and opening it up, and his hands travelled over her, squeezing and sliding.  She gasped as he shifted until he was lying on top of her, and reached up to comb her fingers through his hair.

“I think maybe _you’re_ a little bit bad, Detective,” she said.

“Oh, more than a little, I expect.”

He bent to kiss her, featherlight presses of his lips along her jaw, and she sighed contentedly, letting her hands trail over his naked shoulders.

“But I don’t think you’d hurt me,” she added, and he drew his tongue up the length of her throat.

“No, Lacey,” he whispered.  “I won’t hurt you.”

He kissed her neck, tongue swirling over the throb of her pulse, and Lacey moaned a little, feeling him begin to harden against her leg.

“I think,” she said softly.  “I think you’re a little dark.  Maybe as dark as some of the people you hunt down.”

Weaver pushed himself up on his elbows a little, gazing down at her, his eyes deep pits, two points of gold where the light caught them.

“Oh, I’m darker, dear,” he breathed.  “ _Much_ darker.”

He kissed her, his mouth hard and wet, and she arched her body upwards, pressing herself against him as her fingers raked down his back.  He groaned into her mouth, and reached down between her legs to where she was soft and wet and still swollen from their earlier coupling.  Lacey scrabbled to the side, fishing in the drawer of the nightstand for a condom and tearing open the packet.  It was a little awkward to get it on in the position they were in, but he managed it, and slid first one, then two fingers inside her.  Lacey sucked in a breath with a hiss, letting her head roll back in the pillows, and he let the fingers slide out of her, taking his cock in hand and guiding it inside her.

He pushed deep, and she drew up her knees, moaning as he ground against her.  It felt incredible to be inside her, familiar and somehow right, and he moved his hips in a slow circle, sliding in and out as her legs wrapped around his back.  Lacey’s nails scored his shoulders, long ridges of pain that made him grimace, sending jolts of sensation all the way down to his balls, and he pushed and thrust and groaned in pleasure at the feel of her.  Her breasts pushed against his chest, her breath hot on his mouth as he moved to kiss her, and sweat was forming between them, making their bodies slippery and covering him with the scent of her.  His mouth met hers, lips pushing hers apart so that his tongue could slide inside, and Lacey moaned into his mouth as he thrust, the cotton sheets cool against hot skin.

Her hands had slid up over his shoulders, running down over his upper arms, and he slid his own hands up her body, lifting her arms above her head and threading his fingers through hers as he pushed them down into the pillows, holding her there.  Lacey lifted her hips, pushing against him with a moaning cry as he thrust deep, and it was almost enough to make him lose his mind, to take her fast and hard, to spurt up inside her.  He bit the insides of his cheeks to steady himself, to keep his rhythm slow and steady, to keep grinding against her.  She let out a whimper, and he could feel that she was close, her body growing taut, her breath quickening.  He circled his hips a little more, sliding deep inside her, pulling his mouth from hers to lick the sweat from her lip and bite down into her neck.  Lacey came with a wail, throwing her head back, her fingers tightening on his as her inner walls clenched around him, and the feel of it pulled him with her, making him come hard, groaning against her skin, his cock pulsing deep inside her as she tugged at him.

There was silence for a moment, silence except for the sound of their laboured breathing, and he let the sensations wash over him: bliss, contentment, and that strange and unshakeable feeling of familiarity.  He blinked, trying to clear his mind, his body still feeling as though electricity was dancing over him, making the air around them fizz and crackle.  He was buried deep, surrounded by her heat and her scent and with the taste of her on his tongue, and he released her hands, slowly sliding his own back down her arms and pushing himself up on his elbows.  Lacey was looking up at him with sleepy eyes, long lashes fluttering, and a tiny smile twitched at the corners of her mouth.

“Wow,” she said, and he nodded.

“Yeah.”


End file.
